


Killing me

by FreeShavocadoo



Series: SWORD songfics [8]
Category: HiGH&LOW (Movies), HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Loneliness, M/M, Moderate depictions of violence, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 23:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15673047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeShavocadoo/pseuds/FreeShavocadoo
Summary: Nikaido struggles to remove all traces of Smokey from his life.based on the song 'Killing me' by iKON.





	Killing me

_It’s killing me, once again_  
_Your traces remain_  
_And they torture me_  
_It’s killing me_  
_I turned around like you’re a stranger_  
_But why am I so lonely?_

The feeling was like a vice around his ribcage, always squeezing relentlessly and a constant reminder of his genuine emotion, having spent too long pretending to be someone he was and wasn’t. Putting the mask on was easy but denying its existence wasn’t, knowing that standing in front of eyes that should’ve been too clouded to see would strip him bare to the bone with barely anything left to throw to the dogs. Smokey always saw through Nikaido, though, never one to just look but one to truly see, a gift that those more fortunate never felt the need to utilise because they wanted to keep their own façade’s believable. Naturally it helped that Smokey was never one to admit his ill health to others, not from a place of hubris, but wanting to avoid the anguish of those around him watching him wither away slowly. As though everytime Nikaido heard coughing and spluttering he didn’t turn with startling speed, having to cram his hands in his pockets to avoid stretching them out to someone who wasn’t Smokey. As if when he sits outside in the rain he isn’t waiting for a warm blanket to be dropped around his shoulders and for a small frame to drop beside him, chastising him for being out in the cold. Like the invisible hand around his throat isn’t tightening when he attempts to remind himself he has a new family, a proper family, that he doesn’t need any of his old life back anymore.

_I thought I’d be indifferent about breaking up_  
_But there’s one habit of yours that I have_  
_Not being able to throw things away_  
_Foolishly, these feelings remain_  
_Something that feels like regret_  
_Opposite from you who is doing great_  
_I’m half dead._

It’s like when Nikaido closes his eyes he can see Smokey’s face in the rain, the night he left, the warmth in his eyes seeming to seep out like the warmth under Nikaido’s coat into the winter air. The beatings it took to get to the top of the Iemura group cut deep, yet Smokey’s emotionless stare cut deeper. The boy who had once held Kain’s hand as they ran down the Nameless street together, who’d dropped into Kain’s arms on more than one occasion when he was still learning how to fly over all the structures. Who’d fall into his arms without the slightest fear that he’d be dropped, crinkled eyes and innocent smiles, unwavering trust and affection. The teenager who’d developed so fast, with such empathy and strength he’d far succeeded any of the leaders Kain had known before him, benevolent but not naïve. Willing to lean on the shoulders of others rather than cripple their backs when standing on them, a quality that was unheard of in Yakuza. Yet, Kain, **Nikaido** , left him like he was a boy again with his arms outstretched. This time though, they both fall into the concrete without mercy.

_I didn’t know the weight of this break up_ _  
I was selfish, I ignored your tears_

Smokey found it easy to place the blame on Kain, on Nikaido. This man who’d practically moulded himself into someone that was meant to be feared and hated, shaped by and imposing violence like it was his second nature. As though his hands weren’t once gentle enough to carry Smokey back to his bed and place him down so softly it didn’t agitate his coughing reflexes. It would be easier to pretend that he didn’t notice the signs before he left, that he didn’t notice the way Kain’s grip on his hand would falter and the way he’d avoid any semblance of affection, as though it would make what he was doing any more acceptable. Like Smokey wouldn’t recognise he was being kissed as though it was their last kiss, Kain’s fingers curled in his hair so tightly it was a complete contrast to the implication he wanted to be let go. When they’d finally make it to the bed for once, though this time Kain moves his finger over Smokey’s lips, like his words are weapons and his love is dangerous. Like he could say something that would stop Kain from leaving, as though Iemura’s words hadn’t already tainted his soul. It was easy to promise someone the world when theirs was barely liveable, anything would have been a step up for Kain. Apparently that included discarding his family as well.

 

 _Freedom and new relationships_  
_But behind that is an empty heart_  
_On this dark night, I’m alone again_  
_This isn’t right_  
_His existence is such a big part of my world_  
_I try but I can’t take him out of it_  
_Once I did take him off, I broke down_  
_But I can’t tell myself to be ready to die_  
_So it’s killing me_

The respect and the power felt above anything Nikaido had ever experienced before, the feeling of strength and domination under his fingertips, as though there wasn’t an underlying disconnect, knowing that none of these feelings could compare to the soft-edged face of an angel. He wonders briefly if the rush of euphoria from doing his job correctly, the praise from Iemura, is just a shadow of the emotions that flooded him when lithe but surprisingly strong arms circled his waist and told him he was **everything**. Yet here, his status was based on success, not being wanted or needed. He was as useful as he was expendable, as replaceable as the family he’d discarded so quickly for a taste of power and security. As if there was any security in submission. The only security he’d had was under the grip of a man now so frail, his shadow was barely a wisp, yet with a presence so strong in Nikaido’s head he stood taller than any tower in the Nameless street. It would be so sweet, so serene, to fall back into the arms he knows would accept him easily and freely, like he’d never left and the scars in both of their minds were merely figments of their imagination. But nothing in Nikaido’s life was sweet or serene and loneliness plagued him, trapped like a virus inside him, too hot and burning to be put out with sentiments he’d shed in order to survive.

_Why did I meet him?_ _  
Why did I choose this break up?_

 _I loved him to death_  
_The extinguished fire is burning up again_  
_Is it because of this painful longing?_  
_Or is it my selfish loneliness?_

The snow is practically silent when it falls to the ground, a painful flash of nostalgia sweeping over Nikaido, a reminder of winters spent hungry and longing. With only one person that ever made it all worth it, that made that survival worth it. Hearing his name, his true name, fall from Smokey’s lips is a blissful reminder that whatever past Nikaido has, it will die with Smokey. It will die with this man so frail and ravaged by illness, he chooses to stay and allow those he loves time to get away safely, knowing he won’t be granted such a thing. Nikaido’s grip on his blade falters when Smokey’s clouded gaze stares at him, as though they are both young again, free and unburdened. He smiles innocently, staring up at the snow like he’s frozen in time, like a beautiful macabre painting. For a second, Nikaido debates the entire ordeal, yet when Smokey stares back at him he knows he can’t carry this burden anymore. There isn’t the familiar sting of guilt curled deep in the pit of his stomach this time, nor the dull ache of despair. There’s nothing, it’s void. When the first hit knocks Smokey to the ground, Nikaido is resolute that nobody will ever hold a place so high in his heart again, as though anyone would ever come close. When he turns to walk away, the dull thump of metal bars in the background, he acknowledges that he will always be burdened with loneliness- yet now the possibility to absolve himself of the pain was gone. The only step now was forward.

_It’s killing me, once again_  
_Your traces remain_  
_And they torture me._


End file.
